Kintsugi Hearts
by Frelise
Summary: Stiles is still trying to find his balance after the ordeal with the Nogitsune when Derek is reverted to a much younger version of himself, all memories of his current self erased. But even at age 15 Derek still has his share of demons, including the ones that linger in the present. While Stiles tries to help fix Derek, maybe Derek will be doing some fixing of his own.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**: _Kintsugi is the Japanese art of fixing broken objects by patching it with gold (or silver). Rather than being concealed, the damage is celebrated and becomes a defining feature of the object._

First off, I'm almost sure my writing has problems with changes in tense or PoV because I ALWAYS mess that up, so sorry in advance. Comments are appreciated very much and no, I don't own Teen Wolf. :) Also if anyone with experience is looking to beta, I'm searching for one for this story. PS, this does not follow the exact storyline for S3 since I started writing before it concluded.

* * *

It's only been a week since the issue with the Nogitsune was settled, and Stiles was still having trouble getting back to the way things were. Scott was trying his best to keep Stiles grounded, but even Scott couldn't be with him 24/7. _Still, things could be worse_, Stiles thinks vaguely, giving his best friend a smile as he watches Scott take a large bite from his burger, his eyes glued to the screen.

Kira was sitting next to Scott on the couch, their legs pressed together and her hand resting on his leg absently. Kira had been good about giving them space, most likely to try and let Stiles get a feel of normalcy without her hovering, but he made it a priority to invite her along himself the past couple days. He could tell how lonely she was without Scott, and try as he might, even Scott had looked a little deflated without her around.

So here they were, the three of them. Watching The Last Samurai... again. It was the only movie all three of them could agree on, and unlike a couple other samurai films they had attempted, this one didn't make him break out in a sweat by reminding him of the Oni.

They were only about halfway into the movie and Stiles had stopped paying attention about 20 minutes ago. Instead, he was allowing his eyes to roam Scott's living room, his gaze moving from the key hanger by the door to the window, staring out into the darkness and wondering what the rest of the pack was up to. Since regaining control of his body, he'd made it clear that he didn't want to see anyone. Or rather... that he couldn't _handle_ seeing anyone, really.

He had hurt so many people, and regardless of what Scott told him - "It wasn't you man, it was the Nogitsune" - , it _was_ him, because it had been _his hands_ that did it.

No one seemed to get that. But eventually they all had stopped trying to contact him, letting him have time to deal with his "issues". Everyone except Scott, that is. Scott had pounded on the door relentlessly, called his phone over a dozen times, spammed his computer with messages on every social media site he knew Stiles had an account on, and even resorted to ordering a pizza under Stiles' name with the message 'talk to me, dude' written in olives.

When he'd opened the lid to the pizza, he had stood there and gaped at it for a solid minute of dumbfounded perplexity before bursting into laughter. He laughed until his sides ached, until he was gasping for air, until tears burned his eyes and suddenly he wasn't laughing at all. Then Scott was at his side, saying his name with that kicked puppy expression... and that had been that.

He didn't let Scott in on all his inner demons, because he knew he would just blame himself for not being able to rescue Stiles sooner. Instead Stiles pretended he was okay while Scott pretended to believe him. It was working out so far, right?

Stiles blinks at the flash of movement outside the window. Before he has time to wonder if he just imagined it, someone is knocking loudly on the door, causing Kira to jump a little and Scott to drop the last bite of his burger. Stiles is on his feet in an instant and already turning the knob before Scott has time to finish saying "Wait!"

Stiles glances at Scott before the door gets pushed fully open, revealing a slightly out of breath Chris Argent. "Stiles," he greets mildly, doing well to mask his surprise at seeing the kid he was willing to kill only seven days prior. "Mr. Argent, "Stiles replies stiffly, noticing the brief once-over he does of Stiles, as if looking for a third arm or something equally abnormal that would indicate Stiles isn't himself.

Or maybe the third arm isn't needed after all, because Chris meets his eye and gives him a sympathetic smile that makes Stiles want to cringe. He hates those kinds of smiles.

"So!" He clears his throat. "What can we do for you? If you still want to kill me, you'll have to wait in line. Last time I saw Derek, I threw a drink at him - I'm _pretty_ sure I ruined his jacket, so I think he has dibs."

He hears Scott make a noise, some kind of cross between a snort and a cough, while Argent furrows his eyebrows. "No, of course not. Stiles..." before he can finish, Stiles starts waving his arms with a wide grin, ignoring the way his heart pounds painfully against his ribcage.

"Nah, its fine. I get it - possessed by a psychotic killing spirit, I would have voted to kill me too. Anyway, what's up?" The question was supposed to sound cheerful, but Stiles can hear how false it sounds even to his own ears.

By this point Scott and Kira have rallied to his side, expressions torn between being disapproving for Stiles' sake or diplomatic because Argent's not supposed to be the enemy here.

Chris pauses for an awkward moment before giving a measured nod, a silent conversation happening between him and Scott. Stiles presses his lips together in a tight line, resisting the urge to punch him because he's the only one supposed to be able to do that with Scott.

"It's Derek."

Stiles swallows unconsciously, feeling his body tense. "Speak of the devil," he murmurs, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie and staring with mock interest at the floor. Chris quirks an eyebrow, sparing a look in Scott's direction who only shrugs.

"We were working together on tracking down a... _thing_..." He ignores the suspicious look Scott gives him. "And apparently, it had some sort of spell on it. Whatever it was seems to only affect the person who initially touched it, because it's only altered Derek."

"Altered?" They say in unison, all eyes now fixed firmly on Chris with various emotions plastered on their faces. Mr. Argent rubs at his eyes, looking years older with the sheer amount of _exhaustion _emitting from him. "It'd be easier to show you rather than explain. I left him with Allison."

They share a look between them before stumbling out the door, Kira pausing only to snatch her coat from by the door.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go," Stiles says with a gesture towards Argent's car.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes**: I tried to get the explanation out first before I forget, but we'll get more Sterek-y soon, promise!

* * *

Scott and Kira manage to squeeze into the back of the car with Stiles, neither of them feeling brazen enough to sit up front with Argent and risk their show of allegiance to Stiles, who was both exasperated and proud.

"So when are you going to tell us about this mysterious artifact you two got into trouble with?" Scott asks the moment Chris closes the driver's side door. Stiles is pretty sure he hears the man groan before turning the key in the ignition. "I'll explain everything when we get there."

That was far from satisfactory, and it's a miracle Kira remained sane during the drive with Stiles jiggling his knee and Scott bouncing in his seat. She kept silent the whole way though, only once speaking to say "I should have sat in the front," which earned a laugh from Chris.

The moment the car fully stops, the three climb out from the back and begin to head up the driveway towards the Argent's household. It looks relatively normal; no strange symbols painted on the door, no broken windows, no fire… which was always a good sign when dealing with Derek.

Chris approaches the small gathering with a knowing smile. "Don't worry. From what we've seen happen in this town already, it could have been a lot worse. I've already informed Deaton and he's looking into finding a counter spell."

Chris holds the door open as they step inside, Scott leading the way. With his heightened senses (and having visited the house numerous times in the past probably didn't hurt), it surprises no one that he seems to know exactly which way to go, occasionally tilting his head to hear better or squinting his eyes in confusion to whatever it was he heard.

When they reach the top of the stairs, Stiles is finally able to hear the muffled noises that had put Scott on edge and can't keep the alarm from showing on his face when he identifies the sound as laughter. "Oh my _god_," he breathes when the last barrier between them is pushed open.

Allison has a smile on her face, traces of recent mirth still etched on her skin, while Derek… Derek doesn't look like Derek at all, but at the same time it's totally Derek, only different because Derek is years younger and smiling and _what the hell is happening_?

Scott and Kira didn't appear to be handling it much better; Scott's mouth had fallen open at some point and didn't seem to be closing any time soon, while Kira's eyes were so wide it was on the brink of being comical if Stiles didn't think he was sporting a nearly identical expression himself.

"Hi guys," Allison greets from where she's perched on the edge of her bed, pod Derek (because there's no way that smiling creature is the _real_ Derek) offering a wave from his position next to her. "Hello," Derek adds tentatively, causing Stiles to stumble a bit at the lack of anger or growling in his tone. Scott is stammering what Stiles assumes is supposed to be a greeting in return when Chris nudges his way into the room and interrupts.

"Derek, I'd like you to meet Scott, Kira, and Stiles. They're your…" he pauses to look at them in uncertainty, clearly unsure where they fell in terms of comradery.

"Pack," Scott inputs feebly, leaning against the door frame for support. "How is this possible?"

Allison takes the lead, standing up with a small object in her hand. She lifts it in front of herself to display an ancient looking pendant. "Remember how I was telling you about the weird voices Lydia kept hearing down by the lake? Well when I told my dad, he said he'd investigate for us… He just didn't want us going _ourselves_," she adds accusingly, to which her father offers an unabashed smile. "Anyway, he asked Derek to go with him and they found it dangling on a branch."

"Right, and Derek's initial response was to _grab it_?" Stiles asks rhetorically, earning a pointed stare from Derek. Stiles flushes. "I just mean, c'mon - If it sounds like a trap, looks like a trap, chances are… _it's probably a trap_."

Chris chuckles. "Actually it was my fault. I was the one about to grab it when he pushed my hand away. It just so happened he brushed against it, which apparently was enough to do the trick… He was on the ground in seconds, and I thought he'd been hurt until he just stopped moving. Then when I bent down to look, he was… " He trails off, gesturing at Derek's youthful appearance instead of finishing.

"Maybe that explains why he isn't completely de-aged?" They all look at Kira, who had up until this point been observing quietly. "I mean. You said he barely touched it, right? I bet if he'd grabbed it completely he'd be way younger than this. Assuming he'd still be in existence at all…"

They were all silent for a moment.

"Who'd want to curse a necklace to have that sort of effect?" Allison inquires softly, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"Clearly it was meant for someone else," Chris intones. "It looked like it was placed there deliberately. If Lydia hadn't been spooked enough to mention it, we'd never have known to look there for something supernatural."

Derek was staring at the carpet, his fingers digging into the denim of his jeans while they digested the theory. "I shouldn't be here. What if it can't be reversed or I go back to my time and remember all this?" Derek finally looks up, and Stiles is caught off guard by the look of vulnerability on his face.

It felt wrong to be able to see this side of Derek. There was a reason he kept this part of himself hidden, and it felt almost like cheating to see it without his permission.

He clears his throat distractedly, unintentionally gaining the attention of Derek as well as everyone else in the room. _Note to self, stop doing that in a hushed room full of people._

"Uh... I mean, chances are you aren't really from the past. You're still _you_, Derek, you just don't remember the you that you are… were. Will be?" Stiles makes a face, Scott bumping his arm lightly with a lopsided grin.

The smile speaks volumes, and makes Stiles' stomach turn in an unpleasant knot. He knows what Scott is saying without words - S_ee? You're still you, you can still be with us and nothing has to change (except apparently Derek, but at least he's not glaring or calling us idiots)__._

He knows it was supposed to make him feel better, but instead it has the opposite effect. It just reminds Stiles of all the reasons he was avoiding them to begin with. Like why Isaac wasn't here with Allison, or why Lydia had been more paranoid since… since… he gives Scott a forced smile, ignoring the familiar feel of Derek's eyes on him.

"You know what I mean," Stiles finishes lamely, rubbing his neck as if it would make the sick prickling feeling go away.

Derek just nods, and Stiles can only look at Derek, knowing that the others are watching him with worry, or attempted understanding, or who the hell knows really but Stiles doesn't want to find out.

"So how old are you anyway?" He asks randomly, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

"Fifteen," Derek responds, only looking slightly unsure of his answer.

"Good enough for me," Stiles smiles. "So in case no one has said this yet… welcome to the future!"


	3. Chapter 3

After their brief meeting at the Argent's, it was decided that Derek would stay at the loft he's been occupying for the past few months. Derek hadn't felt comfortable with the idea of staying with strangers (particularly hunters, judging by the distance he placed between himself and Allison once that fact had slipped out) and had insisted on staying wherever he'd been residing before the transformation.

None of them had been very keen to explain what had happened to his family home, or particularly his family in general. Naturally it was bound to surface eventually, but Chris had made a point to drag them aside individually to stress that under _no circumstance were they to mention what had transpired with Kate_.

Stiles hadn't exactly been thrilled with having to keep more secrets, but he had nodded along without a word. He had enough remorse to last a lifetime without adding crushing Derek's newly revived optimism to the list.

Once Mr. Argent had dropped them back off at Scott's house, Stiles manages to fake yawn his way through another 5 minutes of the film before Scott seems to catch on. He and Kira walk him to the door before Scott catches his arm, stopping him with one foot lingering in the doorway.

"Want me to go with you?" Scott offers quietly, his piercing stare making Stiles squirm uneasily. He pulls the corners of his mouth up to resemble his trademark smile before shaking his head adamantly.

"No, it's cool. I don't want to completely ruin your night. Besides, I'll just pass out the second my head hits the pillow - It'd be no fun on your end," he explains lightheartedly, casually drawing his arm out of Scott's grip. "You two should catch up anyway. It's been way too long since you've had a night alone together."

Scott doesn't look completely convinced and even Kira seems to hesitate, but Stiles is already backing away with a big grin on his face. "Seriously, go back inside! I'll text you tomorrow. Goodnight!"

He doesn't let his smile fall away until he hears the sound of the front door closing, allowing his shoulders to sag and his breath to come out in a rushed exhale. He clutches the car keys he'd withdrawn from his pocket, the familiarity of them giving him strength as he follows the path to his house.

His jeep had been impounded some time ago thanks to the Nogitsune, and Stiles just didn't have the heart to retrieve her. He had no recollection of what had transpired to result in his car's confinement, but he had a niggling feeling that it wasn't good.

So for now, he'd convinced himself to push it off a while longer. He didn't want to risk tainting the memories of his beloved vehicle, and something in his gut was telling him he wouldn't be able to look at his jeep the same way.

It's about 20 minutes before he reaches his front door, his dad's car parked up front where it's been sitting for the past two weeks. He fiddles with the keys for longer than necessary before singling out the house key, his trembling hand twisting it in the lock until the door finally opens with a creak.

He tries not to think about the eerie silence as he enters the house, stumbling through the darkness until he finds the stairs and heads up to his room. He collapses onto the mattress after kicking off his shoes, his breath coming out in a huff as his head flops back against his pillow.

As he lay there, listening to the seconds tick by on the clock downstairs (yes, the house was _that _quiet), he starts to wish he had agreed to Scott coming over after all.

Typically he'd hear his dad blundering around downstairs – making a late-night snack, working on case files at the kitchen table, or occasionally falling asleep on the couch with the TV on, but there had always been _something_. Even on the nights that he had to work late, his dad would leave behind his spare police radio so Stiles could listen to it.

They were insignificant details, stuff he never thought twice about before, but now that it was missing, the awkward sounds of his breathing mingled with the distant _tick tick ticking_ was driving him insane. He was just about to bury his face in his pillow when his phone began to vibrate in his pocket.

The unexpected sound causes Stiles to yelp, his arms flying outwards and knocking the lamp from the bedside table (thankfully his dad had stopped buying the breakable ones after his third trip to the department store).

"Jesus," he gasps, digging his phone out and flipping it open. "I said I'd text you tomorrow. What, did you think I fell in a bush and got stuck? Because that only happened once, Scott," he says distractedly, flipping onto his stomach to pick up the lamp.

"It's… not Scott." The voice sounds almost apologetic, and it takes Stiles only half a second to recognize the voice from earlier today. He jolts into an upright position, causing the repositioned lamp to sway dangerously on the nightstand.

"_Derek_? How'd you get my number? Not that I mind, its fine and all, just uh… Is everything okay?" He makes a face, holding the phone away long enough to flail at his own stupidity before returning it to his ear.

"There were all these texts from you on his – _my_ - cell phone, I just sort of thought we might have been friends and I…" He pauses midsentence before Stiles hears him exhale sharply, and Stiles can't help picturing Derek rubbing at his eyes in exasperation.

"It doesn't matter. Sorry I called."

Before Stiles can get a word out, there's a soft click and then the line goes dead.

"Damn it!" He groans, his fingers already dialing Derek's number back before he can think about what he's doing. After the fourth ring, he finally picks up.

"We _are_ friends," Stiles says hastily, ignoring the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach at the admittance.

"Whatever it is, Derek… you can tell me. If it's something ridiculous, I can't promise I won't laugh, but after that I'll be serious," He says in a tone that he hopes sounds earnest with only a hint of teasing.

There's a beat of silence, and Stiles has to strain his ears to even make out the faint sound of Derek breathing on the other end of the phone. Clearly he was having doubts about confiding in someone he barely knows, and suddenly an idea occurs to Stiles.

"80's music," Stiles blurts out.

"…What?"

"I like 80's music. When I feel down or whatever, it makes me feel better. And I hate raisins. When I was in the 5th grade I had a pet goldfish named Barnaby who died pretty tragically – I may or may not have filled his bowl with hot water by accident. I cried all day."

Stiles pauses to take a deep breath before continuing when Derek cuts in.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"I uh… Just figured maybe if you knew me better, it'd be easier for you to talk to me," Stiles admits sheepishly, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

"Oh."

There's another moment of silence, but this time it doesn't last very long.

"…It feels weird being here. Why don't I have any pictures anywhere? And aside from a toothbrush and some clothes, this place doesn't even look lived in. Are we sure this is even my loft?"

"I'm pretty sure, seeing as I helped you pick it out," Stiles confesses with a small smile. "I don't think you like to get attached to stuff. I mean… you've been through a lot. Plus if anything goes down, it helps to be able to relocate without feeling like you're leaving something behind. "

He knows he's getting close to spilling trade secrets, but he suspects Derek won't press him for more information. Or at least he really hopes not, otherwise he's going to have to deal with a severely pissed off hunter.

There's a soft sound over the phone, Stiles thinks it's a frustrated sigh, before Derek replies. "I still can't wrap my head around the fact that a stranger knows more about me than I do. The last thing I remember was running to catch up with my sister in the woods, then there's a human with a gun hovering over me asking if I'm okay."

Stiles chews at his lower lip inattentively, his mind absorbing the new information. "So… I mean, did you black out? Or was it like one of those blink-of-an-eye moments?"

There's a gruff laugh that meets his ears, and it reminds him so much of the old Derek that for a second he forgets to breathe.

"A little of both I guess. My vision blurred and then suddenly I go from staring at a tree in front of me to seeing clouds and Argent's face inches from mine. It took him a while to convince me he wasn't after me or Laura."

Stiles was nodding along before remembering that Derek wasn't actually _with _him, and therefore wasn't able to see his movement. "Of course, yeah, that makes sense."

"Do you think I'll remember any of this when I change back?"

Stiles rubs a hand across his lower face, contemplating the answer. "I mean, it's possible, but I don't think the necklace was designed with the intention of survivors, so…"

"So you think it's unlikely."

"Yeah, but what do I know? You could be back to yourself by tomorrow morning. What happened to you was a design flaw, anything can happen," Stiles says with a small shrug.

He hears shuffling on the other end before the sound of a spring mattress being pressed down on reaches his ears.

"I won't be able to sleep," Derek murmurs so quietly that Stiles isn't sure he was meant to hear it.

Stiles only has to deliberate for a handful of seconds before his curiosity wins out.

"Why not?" His own voice is equally as soft, the sound of his own pulse almost deafening to his ears during the brief silence that follows.

"I've never been away from my pack like this."

Stiles swallows nervously, wondering if Derek somehow can sense that the majority of his family isn't alive anymore. The idea of Derek being affected like Spock during the destruction of the _USS Intrepid_ came to mind, a moment of pain and then nothingness… Stiles can still remember the numbness he felt after his own mother had passed away.

Stiles presses the phone against his shoulder to wipe the sweat from his palms on his jeans. "Do you want me to come over?"

The resulting silence is answer enough.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Spock came to mind when I was thinking about how Derek could have been affected by the severance of his pack, and then I figured Stiles would probably be nerdy enough to watch ST and so why not? xD


	4. Chapter 4

**Author Notes:** I_ was _trying to make this chapter over 3k words, but I couldn't do it. D': I do have some of the next chapter done, but I decided I wanted to post this part now instead of jamming it all together, otherwise I don't know how long it'd take me to finish.

* * *

Stiles already has his sneakers back on and is halfway down the stairs before Derek responds. "You live a ways out, don't you?"

Stiles let out a soft scoff, pausing in front of the mirror in the downstairs bathroom to rake a hand through his untidy hair before continuing out the door. "_I _live in town. You're the one who likes to live like a hermit as far away from civilization as possible. Though I guess being a werewolf you have good reason," he rambles amicably, shrugging his hood closer to his neck to try and stifle the chill that was creeping down his spine.

A light wind has started to pick up since departing from Scott's house earlier, and a glance skywards reveals a darkening sky with the promise of rain on the way. He had maybe an hour before the sun was hidden behind the horizon, and he was hoping to be at Derek's before that.

He was in the process of giving himself a mental pep talk – '_You can beat the rain, the world doesn't hate you that much!_' – when the sound of a door shutting catches his attention. "Derek?"

"You don't have a car, right? You can't walk here by yourself."

Stiles stops mid-step to stare incredulously at the row of houses across the street as if he had just been personally victimized by them. He puts on his best affronted look, hoping Derek would somehow sense it with his wolfy powers.

"Derek, I'm not a 7-year-old girl walking through the ghetto. I think I can make it to your loft without the risk of being kidnapped or stabbed to death."

Derek huffs in irritation on the other end. "You're a nerdy white kid with a cell phone and it's almost dark out. Not to mention this is Beacon Hills, so forgive me for being skeptical," Derek replies dryly, and Stiles is too amused by their banter to argue.

"Yeah okay, fine. You're a real knight in shining armor. But seeing as you don't even know where I live, how exactly do you plan to find me? It's not like I have a bat signal over my head."

A heavy sigh greets his ear. "Werewolf, remember? If following your voice wasn't effective enough, then your smell would be."

Stiles takes a moment to ponder over that. "So you memorized my scent?" He wonders if he should be more concerned about that, but an odd feeling of pleasure takes precedence by settling in his chest.

"Hardly. You smell like grass and fast food, and a little like…" Stiles raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to finish but he doesn't. Instead he hears the light puffs of breath and the soft footfalls on gravel.

"What? If you're implying I smell bad, your nose must have been damaged during the transition because I smell _awesome_."

Stiles was pretending not to sniff at his underarm (if anyone asks, he was totally stretching and nothing more) when a voice sounds from down the street.

"Like medicine."

This time the voice didn't come through the phone but a little ways down the street. Stiles makes an unflattering noise and plays hot potato with his phone until it slips past his fingers and skitters a few inches away from him. "Jeez! Can't you warn a guy before sneaking up?"

He's reaching down to recapture his phone when another hand gets there first, strong fingers wrapping around the device and lifting it easily off the ground. If his hand happens to brush against the warmth of Derek's, he plays it off like he doesn't notice.

"Uh thanks," he says awkwardly as he accepts it back from the other teen. Now that they are face to face without a crowd of onlookers, Stiles takes a few seconds to really look at Derek.

He seems roughly the same except his muscles are less defined and there isn't any noticeable facial hair, though what really captures Stiles' attention are his eyes. Instead of being plagued by the anger and guilt that had accompanied the older Derek around like an abused puppy, these eyes look more concerned than anguished.

It was a nice change, he decides.

Derek's still wearing his signature leather jacket, which Stiles thinks attributed to his stealthy approach going undetected, and his jeans seem to rest loosely at his hips from the change in his body mass. Stiles is briefly reminded of 'Miguel' and bets his shirts would fit him a lot better now. A slight flush creeps across his face as that line of thought leads to the absurd image of Derek tugging off his favorite shirt, smoldering eyes boring into his.

When he finally focuses back on Derek, he has one eyebrow lifted and his mouth is quirked to the side in a smirk.

"Shut up. You have no idea what I was thinking about. God, you're obnoxious," he huffs, striding past him and feeling a tinge of satisfaction for at least being a little taller than the other boy. He adds that to the list of things to rub in Derek's face when he changes back.

Derek just rolls his eyes as he jogs to his side. "So what's with the medicine? …Are you sick?"

Images of his mom, lifeless in a hospital gown, flicker through his mind before he settles his gaze firmly on his shoes. "No, I'm not sick." _Anymore_, he almost adds, but then he never really was to start with. The Nogitsune had been so much worse.

"It's just Nightquil," He adds evasively, his fingers drumming against his thigh. He suspects Derek knows there's more to it, but he lets the topic drop without complaint.

The older Derek would have flared his nostrils and glared at him until the silence got so uncomfortable that Stiles rambled out the answer Derek wanted. He's grateful that younger Derek has a little more tact.

They continue walking for several minutes in what Stiles hopes is companionable silence and not the awkward kind, but it's hard to tell with Derek. They're only a few blocks away when the first drops of rain start to fall. It feels surprisingly refreshing against his skin, and Stiles doesn't bother to pull his hood up. Instead he tilts his face up towards the downpour, a relaxed smile on his face as the sweat and dirt wash away.

"Stiles, you're getting soaked," Derek half yells over the thunder that resonates around them. He has his jacket pulled rigidly over his head, looking at Stiles like he was insane (and okay, maybe he was a little). Stiles just laughs, shaking his head and watching the water spray threaten Derek who has enough sense to step back before growling.

"C'mon, you idiot," Derek says gruffly, dragging Stiles the rest of the way to the loft with Stiles putting up minimal resistance (which isn't to say he helped either, Derek was on the verge of throwing him over his shoulder before the building finally loomed into view). They stumble through the doorway in a tangle of limbs.

Derek is leveling him with his best bitch face, which Stiles can't help but find hilarious after having faced the fully-grown version. "Dude, you look like you just licked a lemon," Stiles snickers, earning a grunt of annoyance from the ex Alpha.

"Shut up and take your shoes off," Derek grumbles, tossing the wet jacket over the back of the chair as he strides further into the loft. Stiles spares a glance at the carpet, which really doesn't look like it could get much worse, but abides none the less.

He sets the sneakers off to the side of the door, pausing to look around for any changes since he was last here. There weren't any, much to his disappointment.

He follows Derek into the apartment, jerking his head uselessly to try and dislodge the water build-up in his ears when a towel hits him in the face.

"Stop getting water everywhere. You're worse than a dog," Derek remarks from where he's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Stiles glares from under the towel.

"Well you would know," He responses automatically, rubbing the towel over his damp hair and face.

"Why did I want you here again?" Derek asks flatly to no one in particular.

"Because of my sparkling personality and my dazzling good looks?" Stiles quips optimistically.

Derek deadpans. "Such a sourwolf," Stiles mutters under his breath.


End file.
